Precipitate
by majela
Summary: Sequel to In Suspension. John kisses Sherlock for the first time inside Angelo's Restaurant. The story continues from Sherlock's POV.


**precipitate - ** _noun_

Without sufficient force of gravity (settling) to bring the solid particles together, the precipitate remains in suspension.

**precipitate** - _ verb _

to fall headlong

There are things that cannot be said in any language because words simply do not suffice. The brain messages the tongue and teeth to form words of desire which are never borne. To Sherlock, words for John were feeble beasts, too laden with longing, they lay down and died in his throat, unworthy of their destination.

The only way he could think to communicate his love for John was through music, and finally, _finally_, John had heard his song. It is the only explanation for why John is kissing him now, here in Angelo's restaurant, in the corner booth that John requested, where John was able to move in and capture Sherlock completely by surprise. Not an easy thing to do to Sherlock Holmes.

Sherlock, eyes wide, observes in his peripheral vision the turn of customers' heads to their table. He glances at them but John tightens the hold he has on the back of Sherlock 's neck, and draws him in closer.

_Focus , Sherlock_.

Sherlock closes his eyes, and dissolves. John weaves his fingers through Sherlock's hair, sends shivers down his spine. He gently presses Sherlock's teeth apart, their tongues slide together, and _oh_ -

This fusion is overwhelming, so much information flows to him at once that Sherlock starts to panic. He needs to memorize the taste, texture, the placement of every cell on John's lips. Sherlock has never kissed a man before, he doesn't really know what to do, oh god, what if this is his only chance ? While John lacks Sherlock's musical ability, he knows what a teeth and tongue are for.

_So clever, John, you are so clever and I am an idiot for not doing this sooner._

He wants Sherlock. This is what John is telling him now, with his tongue firmly in Sherlock's mouth, making him see stars .

_Orion Perseus Aquila Cygnus Lyra Asclepius _

Sherlock tries to catalog the constellations spinning around him, but so swiftly the stars are exploding , collapsing into a super massive black hole that is the back of John's throat, pulling in all his secrets, swallowing his doubt. He is adrift in the space between John's lips, yielding to the undeniable force of gravity that is John Watson , the center, the one fixed point in Sherlock's universe.

_floating losing mass physically impossible catch me John _

Sherlock tumbles a bit to one side and John catches him around the waist, steadies them both . The kiss is broken.

Sherlock needs a few seconds to come back to earth . The song he wrote is still ringing in his ears, but Billie is not singing anymore, she is at the back of the restaurant, smiling.

_Right then, just in my head ._

Sherlock shakes his head , tries to regain control of his senses. Sherlock the composer, stripped of all composure by his friend John . Friend ? Sherlock regards his hands, curled tightly into John's jumper . He slowly releases his fingers and stares at John in wonder.

_John. Lips red, pupils dilated, holding his breath, apprehensive, eyes searching for my reaction._

_Me. Heart rate elevated, adrenaline rush, disequilibrium, tingling lips, enhanced sense of smell._

Irrefutable evidence .

Sherlock's expression changes to one of mock indignation. He draws himself up straight , glowers at John, then a broad grin spreads across his face.

" Knew you'd figure it out eventually, John ."

John exhales a half-laugh, " Right. Yes. Took me long enough. "

John's anxiety is replaced with a crooked smile of bemused joy, but then , John doesn't seem to know what to do with his hands. His left hand grips Sherlock's knee, advances, retreats, right hand palms Sherlock's face, drops, finally settles on Sherlock mid-chest. He appears to be bracing himself.

" Sherlock, your song...I finally understood. And I apologize for not realizing it sooner, but now, I need you to understand something." He leans in, stealing Sherlock's air. " I have waited an _eternity_ to kiss you, Sherlock . And I chose to do it right here, right now, in front of all these witnesses, because you have to know that I love you, and I don't give a fuck who knows it. "

Sherlock's mind is a maelstrom of emotion. He is not sure he deserves this man.

Angelo stopped clapping a while ago. He just gawps at his two favorite customers, impressed.

Billie scoots over to their table, and hands John the sheet music entitled Dear John .

" I believe this is for you, " Billie says, lightly bouncing.

John gratefully accepts the music. " You have a spectacular voice, you know."

" Why, thank you ! Glad to be of service." She winks at Sherlock, and twirls away happily.

John weighs the sheet music in his hands. "Sherlock, when did you write this ? "

"Write ? Well... I put pen to paper six weeks ago, but it's been up _here_," Sherlock presses his index finger to his temple, and looks down " ...for far longer than I care to admit."

John's eyes widen . "Why didn't you tell me sooner ? I thought – look we can be completely honest with each other now."

No reply.

"Sherlock, it's all right," John says softly.

Sherlock leans forward, rests his elbows on the table. His hands rise to cover his face, and there is a slight tremor in the long fingers pressed against his forehead.

"So...so long that song has been in my mind ." He lowers his hands slowly, counting the years. " Putting it on paper was a huge risk for me, John. To take an idea and make it real. It was proof, evidence that could be used against me."

John rests the sheet music on the table, gathers both of Sherlock's hands into his own. Sherlock stills, stares at their hands joined together.

"Sometimes I imagined leaving the song in plain sight for you to discover, but that hardly seemed fair, ambushing you like that. Even if you did read it, I wasn't sure how you would react. You would probably be confused, perhaps offended...angry. I imagined the papers spontaneously combusting in your hands . My words crumbling to ash. Our living arrangements would no longer be appropriate, you would move out..."

John squeezes his hands. " But I'm here, Sherlock. I'm not going anywhere."

"Yes, here you are. With my music beside you. Not in ashes."

Sherlock decides enough time has been wasted. He moves in, touches his forehead to John's -

" And I ... "

lowers his head, glides past John's cheek, feels the heat shimmering between them -

" I am ..."

places one hand on John's upper thigh, and lowers his voice to rumble directly into John's ear -

" ..._aflame_. "

Sherlock is rewarded with a gasp, and a palpable twitch in John's jeans.

"We should get a cab -" John squeaks.

"Agreed."

Angelo comes to say goodbye, and hugs them both in turn. " So, John, I hope you enjoyed your _date_. " He laughs heartily. "I am so happy for you Sherlock. For you both. Bravo ! "

They step out into the cool evening. Sherlock turns up his collar, while John stands in the middle of the street, on tiptoe, arm stretched above his head trying to be as tall as possible to hail a taxi _right bloody now_.

The ride back to their flat is only ten minutes, and normally they would have walked it. John is unabashedly snogging Sherlock in the back seat , it's almost embarrassing.

Then something unfortunate happens. Sherlock starts to think. He cannot help it, all this new data about John must be processed immediately. In his lightning quick analysis there are some troubling results. After a minute , Sherlock gently pushes John away. John raises an eyebrow, lips still smooched. Sherlock wants to laugh, but he needs to be serious now.

" John, I want this as much as you do, believe me, but... I need you to be honest with me." His eyes grow dark. " Or, at least, be honest with yourself."

"What are you talking about ?" John is confused by Sherlock's sudden about-turn.

Does Sherlock really have to point this out to him ? All right then.

" John, you obviously are attracted to women, you were _married_, I have never heard you speak of being with any man, so... "

Sherlock clenches his jaw. It is not logical, what John is doing. How many times has John told people _I'm not gay_ ?

Sherlock's heart is pounding. He cannot look at John. His doubts have come back redoubled. He turns to the window.

" While I cannot take back my words , John, I could never forgive myself if I allowed you to do something that you will later regret."

John lets that sink in a moment, then swivels Sherlock's shoulders towards him, and gently turns Sherlock's jaw so they are again face to face.

"Sherlock, can you not - can you not _deduce_ the truth of how I feel about you right now ?"

Sherlock's mind is at war with itself.

"The truth , John ? Interview a hundred witnesses who saw the exact same event and you get one hundred different accounts of what occurred, all willing to take the stand and swear they're telling the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth."

His logical mind is taking over, hollowing out emotions.

" In my experience, John, the truth is multifaceted, a diamond of infinite angles, seemingly clear, but depending on how you hold it to the light ...what is true is dependent on the observer."

John grips his shoulders harder. "Sherlock ! Stop being so ... bloody evasive ! I love you, and _you know it_ ! "

Sherlock is looking past John, out the side window. They are passing St. Bart's now. The streetlight shines down on the pavement, transporting Sherlock back in time.

" The truth is a bend of light, John."

Sherlock cannot allow this to happen. It was so hard leaving London, abandoning John those two years. He composed the song while he was technically dead, and some nights it felt like the only thing that would keep him alive. The hope of reuniting with John, a chance for something more...

Had he hoped for too much ? Perhaps. He had certainly manipulated John back then. Was he manipulating John now ? To satisfy his own needs ? Probably. Better to cage his heart and save their friendship. If John were to eventually regret what they were about to do, that would truly kill Sherlock.

John pulls Sherlock closer, his eyes shining. "Look. I understand. Of course you have doubts, but the truth is , Sherlock ... I have had feelings for you for a very long time. Probably since the day we met. But I could never tell you because, well, you did not appear interested, or even inclined to want anyone that way. And I valued our partnership too much. You made me feel alive, and I was grateful for it. To ask for more, seemed...unwise. And I know what you mean, that what is true for you, may not be true for me, but then surely you _must_ understand my hesitation? If our friendship was all that you required, well, that was enough."

Sherlock knows in his bones that this is true, every word. John wants him now, has wanted him for a long time.

He grasps John's face in his hands, and kisses him hard while trying to fold himself into every inch of John's personal space. There is no logic in this, only love.

" I'm sorry John, to doubt you. These damnable feelings, John, do you know how long I wished they would just leave me alone ! Remember Dartmoor ? I pushed you away . My emotions terrified me. But you...you did not leave. And that was just...beyond my comprehension . Ridiculous ! I cannot fathom how you put up with me, John. I'm such an arse."

He kisses John again, softly. " You are a mystery to me, John Watson."

John smiles, "One you need to solve ?"

"Yes, John." _Oh yes_.

As they step out of the taxi and Sherlock follows John through the door of their home, up the stairs, he notes how different they are physically. Both men, with similar DNA, but uniquely formed. He considers them as chemicals, suspended in the solution that is 221B Baker Street. The solution to their loneliness. They had been circling each other for years, atoms colliding , electrons attracting, repelling. Tonight they would bond, and the precipitate that formed would require years of study.

A lifetime, he hoped, of research.


End file.
